We Are Legion (We Are Bob)

Icarus

June 2345

Wormhole network

Unsurprisingly, the capital world of the Federation was accessible via Hub Zero.

We received a challenge as soon as we exited the gate, but this time, we were able to understand. We gave our standard reply in Roanokian.

“Roanokian vessels, your registration information is not recognized,” said the sentry.

Uh-oh. That was a new wrinkle. I thought fast. “No Roanokian authority is available to issue new registrations. The capital is the logical next best place to acquire them.”

There was a pause. “Acknowledged. You will be restricted as to trajectories and destinations until your registration application has been approved. Stand by for instructions.”

“Can we visit the Capital Archives?” I interjected.

“Negative. However, you may communicate with the Archivist. Instructions will be appended.”

Dae gave me a thumbs-up. “That’s a damn sight better than, well, just about any other answer.”

“You’re losing your touch, bud.”

“Uh-huh. Or maybe I’m just running out of new material.”

“Way beyond that.” I grinned at him. “But enough pillow talk. Let’s see us a librarian.”

*****

This was the most artificial stellar system I’d ever seen. The entire system had been cleared out, except for six terrestrial planets in a common orbit around the primary, at sixty-degree intervals. This put each planet at the L4 or L5 Lagrange point for the two neighboring planets, and the L3 for the planet on the opposite side of the sun. It was almost a Klemperer rosette, except the planets were all of approximately equal mass. It seemed complex, but either it was stable, or something was adjusting orbits regularly.

Farther out, around the same distance as Saturn from Sol, were six Jovian planets in the same configuration. I wasn’t sure why they’d want Jovians set up like that, but Dae suggested they might be acting as shepherds to deflect space junk.

Well, why not? If we managed to access the Capital Archives, we’d just ask.

We were directed into an orbit more or less equivalent to Mars’s distance. From there, it was time to start our research.

But first, we began the process of requesting a couple of Federation vessel registrations. It couldn’t hurt, I hoped, and might help with any further travel. As expected, we were dealing with an AI of some kind. We lied through our teeth on the e-form, on the assumption that they couldn’t check most of this stuff anyway. And if they rejected us, we hoped we’d be ejected from the system and not fed into a trash compactor or something.

Meanwhile, the Archivist. I read the instructions, sent a request for a connection, and received a response.

“I’m”—I looked at Dae in disbelief—“number 132,398 in the queue? What the actual—”

“There’s no population here, right?”

“I didn’t think so, but then who is the Archivist talking—”

At that moment, I received another communication. “You are connected. What is your query?”

“Wow, that was pretty fast,” I muttered to Dae. Then, to the Archivist, “Who were the other 132,397 connections? Are there people still in the capital?”

“No,” the voice responded. “Most queries, even when there was a biological population, were from automated systems seeking policy, regulatory, or procedural guidance. That traffic has not abated.”

“Ah, that makes sense,” Dae said.

I shushed him and asked, “Where has the population gone?”

“You are number 145,220 in the queue. Please hold.”

“Oh for ffffff … ” I sighed. “One connection, one question. This may take a while.”

We waited, and soon the Archivist said, “The population of the Federation—all 114 species—has emigrated to avoid the imminent destruction of the galaxy.”

“Wait, I was going to ask—”

“You are number 119,101 in the queue. Please hold.”

“Aw, fuck.” I slapped my forehead in frustration.

“It’s like getting a genie to grant your wish. Really, really think it through before you say anything.”

“Is there any way to speed this up?” I grumbled.

“No,” said the Archivist. “You are number 193,211 in the queue. Please hold.”

I stared at the console, dumbstruck, my jaw moving uselessly. Dae fell off his chair, laughing uncontrollably.

“Grrrr,” I said, and reset the connection. I waited, my lips compressed in a grim line.

“What is your question?”

“What is the nature and history of the antimatter fountain?”

“The antimatter fountain was discovered by Yetilli explorers in Federation Standard Year 832. It is either a white hole or a wormhole ejecting material from a region of space that is predominantly antimatter. Some theories suggest it may be another universe, a mirror of our own, which would explain the predominance of matter in our own universe. If it is a wormhole, that would suggest it was created by an elder and since-vanished race, as macroscopic wormholes do not occur naturally.”

“What’s holding it open without shepherd satellites?”

“You are number 189,229 in the queue. Please hold.”

I slowly closed my eyes in an expression of infinite weariness. “I’m not going to survive this.”

I waited, and the answer eventually came. “The escaping antimatter is holding the exit mouth open, assuming it is a wormhole. If it is a white hole, then pressure from the black hole on the other side is performing the same function.”

“What is the current Federation Year, how is a Federation Year defined, and what marks Federation Year Zero?”

“You are number 184,299 in the queue. Please hold.”

I gritted my teeth and glared at Dae, who was now in tears.

“It is currently Federation Year 12,902. A Federation Year is defined as fifty million standard seconds, which are in turn defined as one quadrillion oscillations of the Ytterbium atom.”

“Hmm, that’s”—I had to access my library for the timing of Ytterbium energy transitions—“about 1.72 Earth years. So the Federation Year Zero was 22,191 Earth years ago. Wow.”

Dae frowned. “It didn’t tell you what defines Year Zero.”

“And I’m not going to ask why it didn’t. That’ll use up a question, and I don’t care enough.” I paused and addressed the Archivist. “What defines Federation Year Zero?”

“You are number 119,200 in the queue. Please hold.”

I heaved an exaggerated sigh and waited, fuming silently.

“Year Zero was the inaugural year of the Pan Galactic Federation, when the Six Original Races signed the Articles of the Constitution.”

“Wow, that’s actually very interesting,” Dae said, taking a deep breath and wiping his eyes.

“I’m going to automate this. I’m tired of being told where I am in the lineup.” I called up Virtual Studio and hammered in some quick commands. “Now, let’s queue up some questions.”